After our second attempt at a shower together, I make my way downstairs and to Victor’s office as Ruby sorts the sheets on the bed. I told her to leave them and that I’d do them later, but she insisted. Something about reading a romance book where the guy fucked her for a bet and showed the bloody sheets to his friends to prove he did it. Sounds like a book I’d read.

“I need you today.” Victor says from his office chair, bringing the glass he’s holding to his lips and swirling the deep amber liquid around.

I’ve given up on trying to get answers. I know it’s all dead ends. When he wants me to know, he’ll tell me why he chose me. But right now, I need to make the decision to comply to keep Poppy safe, and to keep Poppy safe, I need to be away from prison.

“Done.” I lower myself onto the armchair tucked on the opposite side of his desk. His office is painted mahogany, with tarnished wood as a desk and high bookshelves. Their house reminds me of something you’d find on some uptight magazine about architecture and design. All white and black marble, grand staircase, and crystal chandeliers. No doubt the artwork hanging on their walls costs as much as the houses down the street we lived on. They drip money.

Victor moves from the chair to the open fireplace on the other side of the room. He kicks out his leg, keeping his eyes on me as one of his foot soldiers enters behind me. I think his name is Tony. Different from the one who usually drives Ruby around. “They’re ready and waiting.”

Victor leans forward, flicking his fingers over his shoulder but keeps his focus on me. “If you’re in, I need you all the way in.” His tongue runs over his lip.

“I’m not Italian, I have nothing to offer you as far as the outfit is concerned.”

Victor keeps his eyes on me. Ruby gets her green eyes from him, since her mother’s are blue. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Really?” I ask, kicking my foot out. “I find that hard to believe since all of this”—I wave my hand around the room—“feels a lot like old school mafia type shit. Not that new age bullshit.”

A beat of silence stretches between us before he stubs out his cigar and nudges his head out the door. “Guess we’ll find out.”

An old church stands at the top of a hill where thick green grass grows against it. It’s all withered white wood and cracked paint, but I know why he’s taking me here.

Well, I have my guesses. I’ve come to realize Victor is about as consistent and reliable as mob bosses go.